Chapter 4 - The Cracks in the Crown
Across town, in the sprawling Castellano estate in Lake Forest, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Roman Castellano slammed his crystal tumbler against the brick wall of his study, sending fragments of glass and amber bourbon raining over the Persian rug.
“Find her!” Roman roared, turning on his second-in-command, Marco. “She didn’t have a phone, she didn’t have a bag, and she had no money on her! A woman in an evening gown doesn't vanish into thin air in downtown Chicago!”
Marco kept his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Boss… she didn’t walk. We pulled the security footage from the hotel’s perimeter.”
Roman froze, his dark eyes narrowing like a predator scenting a trap. “Who picked her up?”
“It was Vale,” Marco muttered, swallowing hard. “Dante Vale’s Maybach. He was waiting at the valet line.”
A dead silence descended upon the room, heavier than lead.
Roman’s fists clenched until the knuckles cracked. Dante Vale. His oldest, most bitter rival. The man who had contested Roman’s expansion into the rail yards for five straight years.
“She planned this,” Roman hissed through his teeth, pacing behind his heavy mahogany desk. “The little bitch planned it all along. She smiled at me when I bought her that sapphire, played the obedient, fragile wife, and the moment I pushed her, she ran straight into his bed.”
A soft knock came at the open study door. Vanessa stood there, dressed in one of Evelyn’s silk robes that hung far too loose on her petite frame. She looked anxious, holding the sapphire ring between two trembling fingers.
“Roman…?” she whispered. “The phones downstairs won't stop ringing. Your uncles are calling. The Capos from New York want to know if the board meeting on Friday is still on.”
Roman turned to her, his expression cold enough to freeze water. In the harsh light of the study, without the ballroom glitter and champagne, Vanessa didn't look like an exciting conquest. She looked like an expensive mistake.
“Take that robe off,” Roman commanded, his voice dead.
Vanessa flinched. “What?”
“You’re wearing my wife’s clothes in my house,” Roman snapped, crossing the room in three strides. He snatched the ring from her hand, his grip tight enough to leave red marks on her skin. “Get dressed and go back to your apartment.”
Tears welled in Vanessa’s eyes. “You told me tonight was our debut! You said Evelyn didn't care, that she would accept an arrangement!”
“I don’t give a damn what I said!” Roman barked, his face darkening with venom. “She made me a laughingstock before the entire syndicate, and you stood there like an idiot holding that ring! Get out before I have Marco throw you into the street!”
Vanessa sobbed and ran down the hallway.
Roman looked down at the sapphire ring in his palm. It felt cold, heavy, and worthless. For four years, Evelyn had run his household with quiet elegance, smoothing over political feuds, managing his public philanthropy, and acting as the gentle mask over his violent world. He had thought her tame. He had thought she would swallow her pride like every other mob wife.
He slipped the ring into his pocket and turned back to Marco.
May you like
“Call the district captains,” Roman ordered, his voice dropping into a lethal, low hum. “Every warehouse Dante owns, every truck leaving his terminal tonight—shut them down. If Evelyn thinks she can trade me for Dante Vale, I’ll bring her back in chains to watch him burn.”
***
